The Story of Trey- Chapter 13 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 13

As I made the slow trek to the Urshilaku camp, I thought about trust. Nothing in my youth had made me believe in the honor or the honesty of others. Mostly, they seemed to be interested in what they could get from you. And, with that philosophy, I had become a thief. But then, I was accepted by House Redoran and made a member of a family. Even though they expected me to perform services for them, they repaid me with loyalty and honor. And then, despite all my worries about their reactions to my role as the Nerevarine, they had continued to support me. The fact was, they trusted me- knew that I shared their code of honor. So much so that they had even sided with me against their Archmaster. And that meant that I should have trusted them to be honorable and fair, as well. Though I didn’t realize it, my musings on trust would be tested much sooner than I had anticipated.

The camp was as I had remembered it- a small cluster of tents in the Ashlands, huddled on the coast of the Sea of Ghosts. These were the people to whom I owed the most, the people whose lives had been made harsh and savage by the constant scheming of the Empire, Dagoth Ur, the Temple, even the Great Houses. If I were to see the path of prophecy to its bitter end, it would be for the Ashlanders that I did so. After greeting the Urshilaku working among the tents, I approached Nibani Maesa’s tent and asked permission to enter. The wise woman smiled to see me, overcoming her usual reserve just a bit. When she asked me, “What news, outlander,” I showed her the tokens of the Great Houses that proved that I had fulfilled the Fourth Prophecy. Then I told her of the attempt by the Temple to lure me to Vivec City, where they no doubt planned to imprison or do away with me. A strange look passed over her face at that, and then she said,

“I have thought long upon the Sixth Trial, Trey. I was blind, but Azura's star has guided me through my dreams. Vivec's high priest, Saryoni, has asked to see you when you are Hortator and Nerevarine. Go to him, and demand to speak with the false god Vivec. Vivec has tried to keep Kagrenac's Tools secret, but you will need these tools when you stand before Dagoth Ur. Get Kagrenac's Tools from Vivec. They are the keys to the riddle of the Sixth and Seventh Trials.”

Completely stunned, I could only stare at her in amazement. How could Nibani, of all people, send me to the very stronghold of our enemies? When I caught my breath, I asked her what Kagrenac’s Tools had to do with anything. She quoted a verse from the Lost Prophecy that I had brought from the Dissident Priests,

“ ‘Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade.' Gilvas Barelo has told you of Kagrenac's Tools, the enchanted devices the Tribunal use to steal power from Lorkhan's heart. One of these tools is the blade Keening. Your star-blessed hand must wield Keening. If Vivec has this blade, it is your fate to take this blade from him.”

So quickly was my new understanding of trust to be tested- one of my closest advisers counseled me to rely on the honor of one of my greatest opponents. Though my mind rebelled, my heart knew that she was right. If all Azura had wanted was my death, she would have no need to go to so much trouble. Nibani was my guide, appointed to help me find my destiny. I had no choice but to follow her guidance.
Knowing that the ultimate struggle against Dagoth Ur was growing near, I decided to scout the approaches to Red Mountain before I went to Vivec. And, in truth, I was delaying the meeting with Saryoni, for I feared imprisonment and torture above all things. Although I knew that I must go to Vivec, must suffer whatever consequences were to come, still I put it off, with the excuse that I needed to know more about Red Mountain. What I discovered was the presence of evil, but I don’t think it stemmed from Dagoth Ur, at least, not directly. Near the foyada Bani-Dad, I came upon a Velothi dome, which seemed a good place to shelter from the ash-storm which had plagued me almost from the moment I left the Urshilaku. The runes on the entrance marked the ancient dwelling as “Shishi,” a peculiar name that I wish I had never heard. As I emerged into the entry, I nearly stripped over the body of a Dunmer sprawled across the floor. A quick examination revealed her to be a Telvanni servitor, and that she had been cut down by swords. Worse yet, she was unarmed, and the wounds showed that she had been running away from her killer. As I ventured deeper into the dwelling, I found more Telvanni cut down in their tracks. Then in the lower part of the dome, I found the greatest horror of all.

A person dressed in the bonemold armor of House Redoran, my House, stood with bared sword, surveying the carnage and searching the room. When I asked what passed, she turned with a snarl and attacked me. I blocked as best I could, while shouting,

“Cease this madness, Redoran! Do you not recognize one of your own House Fathers?”

My identification of myself as a ranking member of the House only seemed to redouble her fury, and it became clear that I was going to have to do more than block. Since her actions had shown her to be an outlaw, her execution was no more than simple justice. Even so, it went hard for me to be the purveyor of that justice. I heard a voice calling from above, asking,

“Anise? What are you playing at down there? Did you find another Telvanni?”

So there were others involved in this murderous rampage- perhaps they would be more reasonable about explaining their actions. When I reached the top of the stairs, that proved to be a vain hope, as two more Redoran guards set upon me. An icy rage overwhelmed me and I showed those rogues no more pity than they had shown the unarmed Telvanni retainers they had butchered. On the body of the leader, I found a partial explanation, a report that had been written in great haste. The document read,

CODE

As instructed, a party of five entered the Velothi tower of Shishi. Five Telvanni sorcerers fell and the tower is now ours, but we have suffered heavy losses. We will hold Shishi as long as we can and await your orders.



Brerama Selas

So, in addition to the crimes of murder and attacking a senior member of his House, this Selas added the venal sin of lying. Only three Redorans had been present, all hale and hearty. And the “five Telvanni sorcerers”? No more than simple unarmed servants, slaughtered when they were trying to escape. Unfortunately, the report was not addressed to anyone, but I vowed that I would find out who had ordered this atrocity. Whether the Telvanni had a legitimate claim to Shishi, I neither knew nor cared. Whatever the case, there was no excuse for this mindless brutality.

Sometimes, trust has to be paid for in blood. Although it horrified me that someone in my House could do such a thing, I was satisfied that I had been the instrument of justice. For good or ill, House Redoran would take care of its own.

[treydog]

Epilogue
At last, it was over. The blight and the ash storms were ended, the people no longer had to suffer troubling dreams, and Morrowind was free of Dagoth Ur. I too was free, free to consider all that I had done and all that had been done to me. Azura had her revenge on the Tribunes, who had been forced to admit their use of the Heart to make themselves into gods. She had strengthened the old ways of the Dunmeri- ancestor worship and even worship of the “good” Daedra- while saving the people of Morrowind. For myself, I walked slowly along the dusty trails, oblivious to the cheerful gratitude of those who recognized me. I wanted only to reach Bal Isra, my stronghold. When at last I found myself in my private quarters, I carefully laid aside my sword and armor, vowing that I would never use them again. Next, I tried to lose myself in my books or in alchemy, but the visions of the past would give me no peace. The multitude of those I had slain thronged the shadows and clamored for my attention. The only way I could find to silence them was to take a drink- and another, and another…. The next several weeks went by in a haze of drunkenness and violent rages. Somewhere during that time, perhaps more than once, Athyn Sarethi came to see me. I have a feeling that I was unforgivably rude to him; fortunately, I don’t actually recall.

One day, as I lay on my bed, suffering from a terrible hangover, there came a persistent knocking upon the door.

“Unless you’ve brought more brandy, go away,” I shouted, and immediately regretted it as my head seemed to split into several pieces. The knocking continued and I roused myself enough to throw an empty bottle at the door. My satisfaction at the breakage was tempered by a repeat of the feeling that my head was trying to explode. However, it also seemed to have the desired result, as the knocking ceased. I thought I could hear someone giving orders, but the room had begun spinning in a nausea-inducing way, so I collapsed back onto the pillows. Just as the spinning began to slow, the doors to the room (there suddenly seemed to be three or four of them where there had only been one before) were flung open, and through each door marched several identical women wearing Redoran colors and bearing buckets. “Oh, goody,” I mumbled, “A parade.” The bucket-bearing apparitions stepped over the broken furniture and advanced upon the bed. Without a word, they upended the buckets, dousing me with icy-cold water. As I spluttered and choked, the figures blended into just one tall, dark-haired woman, holding an empty bucket and looking at me carefully. I lurched upright and roared,

“Who the Oblivion are you?” Again, shouting was a bad idea, and I clutched my head as lightning seemed to flash behind my eyes.

My visitor seemed as unimpressed by my shouting as she was by my appearance. She simply waited until I more or less collapsed back onto the bed, then said in an amused voice,

“If you are ready to behave civilly, I can cure your affliction. If not, I have a number of other buckets at my disposal.”
She raised one eyebrow and waited for my response. A cure for the twenty or so tiny Dwemer smiths who had taken up residence in my head seemed a reasonable trade for a few minutes’ conversation. Besides, the sooner she said whatever it was she had to say, the sooner she would leave. Then I could get back to some serious drinking. Rather than risk speaking again, I gave a short nod. With that encouragement, she placed a cool hand on either side of my head and spoke some words which I couldn’t understand. A flash of burning cold seemed to enter my temples and exit through the soles of my feet, and then I was sober and clear-eyed for the first time in weeks. My mouth still tasted as if I had tried to swallow half the Ashlands, but at least I could think. My visitor had turned away and begun straightening the room while I took a moment to pull myself together. I observed her out of the corner of my eye as I stood and splashed more cold water on my face. She was of unmistakable Imperial heritage, a tall woman, dark-haired and dark-eyed. As she moved around the room, stopping to admire my glass armor, I realized that there was something familiar about her. Then it came to me and I said,

“You! It was you I saw in the Ashlander camps and Ald’ruhn! Who are you?”

She turned, made a mocking curtsey and said, “Since you ask so politely, how can I refuse to answer? I am Serene, formerly of Cyrodiil, now head of House Redoran. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Trey.”

She then explained that she, too, had been sent to Vvardenfell as an agent of the Emperor- and of Azura. One of her tasks had been to smooth the path for and watch over a certain stubborn Breton ex-prisoner. But the fulfillment of prophecy required that I make my choices freely, without direct aid from any outside source. So it was that Serene had gone before me, preparing the way, speaking for me, building a relationship with the Ashlanders so that they would be willing to accept an outlander as Nerevarine. But that was all in the past; today she wished to speak of the future and my place in it.

“House Redoran needs you; Morrowind needs you. So don’t you think it’s time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself?”

I snarled my answer, “I am done carrying a sword for anyone ever again. You will have to find another to do your killing for you.”

Serene shook her head sadly. “I know how the deaths have weighed on you, Trey. I am a healer myself; I respect your desire to never fight again. But please listen. Although Dagoth Ur is gone, the land still needs to be healed. That is the task that lies before me. If you would agree to help, it will be much easier. No doubt you have encountered those people who call themselves ‘Sleepers?’ Now that Dagoth Ur no longer reaches into their dreams, they wander the land, unable to free themselves completely of his influence. As the Nerevarine, you alone can help them make that final step back to sanity. Won’t you please help?”

What could I do except agree? Each Sleeper I saved would be part payment for a life I had taken. To finally have a chance to give life back to people appealed to me strongly, so I agreed to go back out into the world. Serene thanked me for my promise, then wrinkled her nose prettily.

“There is one other thing. I am to be married in a few days, and you would be an honored guest. If it isn’t too much to ask, would you please take a bath before you come to my wedding?”

Postscript
Now, many years later, I look back over the pages that I have written and remember, too, the things not written. And as I wonder if it was all worth it, the door opens and she is there, her hair unbound and a lamp in her hand. She smiles fondly at me and says,

“Are you nearly finished? It’s late and the children are already in bed.”

That smile is all the answer I will ever need.



[i]Here Ends the Story of Trey